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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318190">i'd wait a lifetime</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingroses05/pseuds/rainingroses05'>rainingroses05</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Friday Night Lights</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Season/Series 02, comforting and longing and stuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:33:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,357</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingroses05/pseuds/rainingroses05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"And it’s taken him a while to realize what he lost, but he feels it, now, in the way her hand is resting lightly on his, sees it in the hard set of her jaw."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyra Collette/Tim Riggins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'd wait a lifetime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tyra’s place makes Tim feel nostalgic in a way nothing else does. He generally tries to keep both feet planted firmly in the present, but this place is different. He feels a little younger somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not sleeping when she comes in. Tyra must not realize this, or she’s gotten pretty damn good at ignoring him- could be either, really- because she hardly glances in the direction of the shabby little couch. He doesn’t say anything, just watches her take a glass out of the cabinet and fill it from the tap, leaning her hips against the countertop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyra’s gorgeous, always has been.  Even when they were kids and everyone else was awkward, gangly, there was Tyra, all long legs, tan skin, blonde hair falling down her back. Doesn’t really matter what else is going on, he can’t imagine a world where he looks at Tyra and doesn’t want to kiss her. That’s what this house reminds him of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyra shuts off the tap, sets her glass down, too hard. Water spills over the rim of the cup, splashes onto the marble. She braces herself against the counter, gripping the edges of the sink, hair falling into her face, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s crying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels guilty then, being in her house, witnessing this moment that seems too intimate, even for him. He’s never felt like a stranger around her before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If there’s one thing Tim’s learned in all the years he’s known Tyra, it’s that she’s tough as nails. Whatever’s going on with her probably doesn’t require his help. Then again, he’s the asshole sleeping on her couch. He’s not gonna be the asshole who lets her cry alone, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tyra.” He means to say it gently, but it comes out a harsh whisper, and she starts, her head jerking up, wide-eyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Tim,” she says, then lowers her voice, glancing at Mindy and Angela’s bedroom doors. She didn’t use to worry about waking them, when she and Tim stayed up late with shitty TV shows playing full volume, too glued to each other to notice the laugh track blaring in the background. But she doesn’t like them to know when she’s upset. He can understand that. “I thought you were asleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sits up, leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” She shrugs, sips her water, not meeting his eyes. “Tired. I’m just gonna go back to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tyra. Just come sit with me.” It’s a selfish thing to say- and he’s selfish, and yeah, he wants to comfort her, but he also wants her to sit here so he can feel better, too. There’s something about Tyra that’s grounding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at him for a long time, biting her lip. “Don’t try anything,” she mutters, sitting on the couch, as far from him as the small space will allow, but there’s no force behind it. Her voice sounds far away, and she crosses her arms tight over her chest, folding in on herself in a way that’s so unlike her he’s not even sure what to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on, Tyra? And don’t say nothing ‘cause we both know that’s bullshit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tyra-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t, Tim.” Her voice hardens. “I can’t talk about it,” she says, and she looks at him </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>like part of her wants to, but he knows not to keep asking. When Tyra makes up her mind, there’s no use trying to change it. Doesn’t really matter, anyways; hurt is hurt, at least how he sees it. Tyra hugs herself tighter, bottom lip quivering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every part of him is aching to reach for her. It’s like a trembling in his whole body, a pull. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slides his hand across the worn fabric of the couch, letting it rest in the space between them. It’s quiet for a long time, and Tim picks at the cushion, tugging on threads with his fingernails.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyra looks at him, at his outstretched hand, back at him. She’s looking straight ahead, at the blank TV screen, when she places her hand on his, fingertips grazing his knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s taken him a while to realize what he lost, but he feels it, now, in the way her hand is resting lightly on his, sees it in the hard set of her jaw. “Tyra, you’re the strongest person I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her fingers twitch, just barely, and he turns his hand so his palm is against hers. It’s easier like this, bare skin on skin, like he can convey something through the press of fingertips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you think I always come straight here when I need something?” Maybe the answer’s more complicated than he realizes. Maybe it changes every time he knocks on that door. He just needs her, that’s all he knows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyra takes a shaky gasp of air, like she’s been holding her breath, lips parted, and tears roll down her cheeks when she blinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, he does reach for her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and she stiffens, at first, then presses her body against his side like she’s trying to melt into him, and he so badly wants to let her. “Whatever this is,” he says, “you’re gonna be okay.” He rubs her arm, his thumb drifting back and forth over the inside of her wrist. It’s familiar, the weight of her head on his chest, the way their bodies fit together. </span>
</p>
<p><span>He never really took a whole lot of time to think about the ‘why’</span> <span>part of he and Tyra’s relationship. They just </span><em><span>were</span></em><span>, like football games on Fridays and sharing a booth at the diner. They were both a little too jealous, both used it against each other. It didn’t seem to matter, back then. He was always gonna want her, and she was always gonna want him. Took him a while to learn wanting isn’t enough. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we’re better at this,” Tyra says finally, when she’s stopped crying and they’re just sitting there, soaking up the closeness. The last few words go unspoken- </span>
  <em>
    <span>at being friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>-, and maybe he’s imagining the vague disappointment in her voice. She’s still tucked under his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Friends.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maybe that’s something they can learn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moves away slightly so she can look up at him, her eyes still rimmed red, and he doesn’t know what to say so he just nods, and thinks about the two of them, and friendship, and her hand on his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Act like I’m breaking your heart or something.” She’s smiling a little now, looking more like herself, and she leans on him again, cheek pressed against his chest. She tucks her legs up underneath her, too long pajama pants rolling up over bare ankles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gonna take a lot more than that, Tyra.” He rests his chin on the top of her head, breathes in the sweet scent of her hair. He wants to reach for her hand again, and he has to remind himself he’s the one who let her go. He thinks of the slamming car door, of the dust flying up behind the wheels. She’s not breaking his heart, but maybe he did that to himself, a long time ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m still kicking you out of my house tomorrow,” Tyra says, but she lays her hand on the side of his face. There’s a thank you in the brush of her fingertips on his cheek, and they don’t need to talk anymore. It would be so easy to kiss her. That’s not how friends behave- but how simple would it be to say fuck that, fuck friendship and things that they’re ‘better at,’ he wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t. He just pulls her close, and then lets go. If what she needs is a friend, then that’s what he’ll be. He smiles at her in a way that he knows is too sad, and she untangles their arms, stands up, makes her way back to her bedroom, touching his shoulder on her way out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Tim watches her go, again. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you're reading this you probably already know, but my tumblr is @tyraacollete if u wanna talk about fnl i would die of happiness</p></blockquote></div></div>
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